


I Rule with the Velvet Tongue

by maroon



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Connor, Cock Warming, Feminization, Lingerie, M/M, Makeup, Now That's A Fucking Marriage!, Self Indulgence is the Backbone of All Fanfictions, Teasing, Top Markus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-11 22:37:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16861480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maroon/pseuds/maroon
Summary: Connor is the love of Markus' life. He's his artistic muse, he's the man who makes him do laundry. If he was a schoolgirl, he'd probably doodle 'MARKUS + CONNOR' all over his notebooks along with the thousands of sketches of the man.Not that he doesn't already do that.





	I Rule with the Velvet Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> is it surprising that i'm clumping a whole load of asks into one fic ? no. 
> 
> comments aren't just welcome, i fucking ask you to comment. it keeps me... going. 
> 
> prompts asked:  
> \- connor being markus' model while he's drawing.... pls... ive been wanting to send this ask for 900 years...  
> \- connor gets some cute lingerie as a surprise for his and Markus’s wedding night.  
> \- follow up to the somnophilia fic with cockwarming?? 
> 
> i listened to a whole lot of [king princess](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=43n1wghXRGM&list=PLS7t-7q3ZYAv1AlK1R__7zZHVCE4AEdta) when i was writing this so it's only reasonable that yall listen to her shit, too. title is from her song [Holy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_A4B0Yc5haU)
> 
> [this is the thing connor's wearing](https://omglingerie.tumblr.com/image/178668921604)

Markus leans his head against the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. Connor is sleeping on his stomach, his face tucked into the crook of his arm, his other hand stretched out onto the right side of the bed.

Markus’ side of the bed.

He looks beautiful like this, all pale skin and dark beauty marks that Markus can map out again and again, imprinted behind his eyelids for the rest of eternity. The sun’s barely out, and Markus just got home after a meeting with the rest of the guys. It’s funny, he thinks., Connor got suspended the same time Markus got shouldered with a shit ton of business to do.

They haven’t slept beside each other for a good week, and Markus’ body aches to just be with his husband’s, to feel the soft, welcoming lines of Connor’s body against his. Markus lets his duffle bag drop from his hand and against the hardwood floor, making the Border Collie sleeping by Connor’s legs perk up, tongue lolling out at the sight of Markus.

A grin stretches his face as he leans down to kiss the dog’s forehead, laughing when Nines yawns in his face, doggy breath, slobber and all. Markus straightens himself and tugs off his clothes, leaving him in his underwear.

Connor shifts in the bed and hums, curling his hand against Markus’ pillow and dragging the object into his body, wrapping his arms around it. His hair’s grown longer since the first time Markus saw him, brushing against his forehead in waves that Markus loves to push back. But he stops himself from doing just that, instead sitting down on the huge sofa chair perpendicular to the bed.

He drags his duffle bag closer and pulls out a notebook, leafing through the many pages of topics and things that he doesn’t want to bring into his and Connor’s bedroom. When he finally gets to the last few pages of the notebook that’s littered with sketches of Connor and his friends, he smiles down at it.

Nines hops away from Connor to sit on the sofa beside Markus, placing his head on Markus’ thigh with a whine. Markus pets him twice before pulling out a pen, beginning to roughly sketch the angel in his bed, wishing he’d taken the time to actually get his sketchpad and charcoals.

But even now, he’s scared that if he was away for too long or looked away for too long, Connor will be gone. He knows it’s not going to happen, but they’ve all died once or twice.

Immortality is lonely, and Markus has no plans to spend his life decrepit and alone. He wouldn’t know what to do, if Connor died permanently.

So he starts drawing the subtle curve of Connor’s body, the long line of his pale legs, the shape of his face. Connor’s face is round. A kind looking face, though his jaw is sharp. It fits the wide eyes that Markus is fond of, the lips that has no business being that pink.

When he’s done, a rough sketch of Connor sits on his lap, and Nines whines at it, sniffing disdainfully, as if to say _do better._ Markus laughs. The sketch in his lap is harsher than its subject, with dark lines from a gel pen bleeding this way and that. But still, it somehow manages to be beautiful, as shadowy as it is.

Maybe it’s because it’s Connor, and not anyone else.

Markus puts the notebook away and leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees to watch Connor. Connor’s never liked it when Markus watched him in his sleep, but Markus says it’s payback for all that time that Connor watched him in his sleep, his reasoning being ‘I do not require sleep’, like the creep robot he once was.

Truth be told, Markus watches Connor sleep because it’s the only time where he looks completely at peace, innocent. It’s the only time where Markus can stop worrying about all the words against him, _them,_ their judging eyes and harsh judgments.

Because Markus can’t protect him when he’s awake. Or at least, it’s not enough.

Connor’s eyes are open when Markus looks at his face, and Markus’ heart jumps in his chest, genuinely scared and a little bit unnerved. Connor can be damn creepy when he wants to.

“Stop watching me sleep,” Connor grouses, his voice still slow and sleepy. “Get a job.”

“You get a job,” Markus smiles and slides into the bed with Connor, who immediately wraps himself around Markus, pillow and all. Nines yips and hops onto the bed, with no guilt whatsoever as his paws hit Markus in the groin, making him groan in pain.

Connor laughs, and Nines imitates it by chuffing out small breaths, which makes Connor laugh even more. Markus is in pain, for sure, but he loves the sound of Connor’s laugh, so he just quiets down and lets it wash over him.

His husband throws the pillow away with a small grunt before burrowing into Markus, pressing his nose against Markus’ neck, bare leg coming up high on his hip, making himself smaller so Markus can fully wrap him in his arms.

“I made you lasagna last night,” He hums, still sleepy. “Want me to heat it up?”

* * *

 

Markus shakes his head, closing his eyes. It’s almost seven A.M., and he’s still got a whole day ahead of him, but all of that can wait. “Maybe later.”

Connor is sitting on the counter in only his sweatpants, reading an honest to god newspaper despite the tablet sitting uselessly on the coffee table. He’s got the coffee on, looking every bit like the morning’s just arrived, but in truth, it’s half past twelve and Markus is getting ready to go back to work.

Ever since Connor got in trouble—’trouble’ is objective—for essentially beating a perp half to death after learning that the asshole was selling YK500s and human children to some kind of slavery ring, he’s been suspended without pay for two weeks. It’s day three, and Markus can see Connor’s getting antsy.

His evaluation for getting promoted to Lieutenant was right around the corner, too. Markus isn’t too happy about that, and neither is Connor, but it’s better to fuck up a slaver, right?

When Markus walks in, Connor smiles up at him and puts his newspaper down, loping towards Markus and fixing his tie for him. Markus doesn’t like all this formal bullshit. North doesn’t, either, but Simon and Josh love it.

“Hi,” Connor greets, and Markus bends his head down to press a chaste kiss against Connor’s lips, humming contentedly.

When he pulls away, he puts on his most contrite face. “How does it feel, being my cute little housewife?”

Connor frowns to hide his reluctant smile, and pinches Markus’ ass, “I can poison your food.”

“Everyone would see it coming,” Markus says, confident. “I’m rich, you see.”

When his husband peels himself off, he’s shaking his head. Markus makes an ‘aw’ sound and chases after him, plastering himself on Connor’s back and pressing incessant kisses against the column of his neck. Connor laughs until he quietly sobers up.

They stay like that in the middle of their kitchen as Connor finally begins his heavy-hearted confession. “I feel out of place,” he says bluntly, “I don’t like being alone.”

That hits Markus more painfully than he expects.

“You wanna come along to work with me?” He asks, because it won’t be a problem. If anyone even so much as breathes wrong in Connor’s direction, he’ll be on them before they can even blink. Connor has given more to their cause than one would expect a deviant android—he fought his creators, he’s died for their cause.

Even if Connor is more than welcome in Jericho, he won’t let himself be a part of it.

“No,” He declines, like Markus predicted, “I’m fine. Just get home soon?”

Markus frowns. “Baby, you know...” he murmurs, hating every single word.

Connor looks away, “That’s alright, Markus,” When he looks back into Markus’ eyes, they’re dark and understanding, like they always are. Markus feels a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Connor’s always _understanding._ Maybe it comes with him being an android best suited to interrogations that require soft-touches, as opposed to Lieutenant Anderson’s harsher approach to interrogation.

There are times he does snap, though.

(Read: the dude he beat up)

But he never quite does when it comes to anything regarding Markus.

It seems Connor’s over it though, because he’s smiling, beautiful and radiant as ever, despite the scars on his body, the weary lines on his forehead. All of a sudden, he makes a noise and pushes himself off Markus, darting back towards their bedroom. When he comes back, he’s got Markus’ notebook in his palm, smirking down at the sketch of him.

He brings it up and smirks insufferably. “Doodling about me in class, husband?” Connor teases, “Where’s the little C + Ms?”

Markus feels himself flush. Connor doesn’t exactly know that he’s got sketchpads dedicated only to him and him alone, and he was sure it’d stay that way.

Connor bites his lip and flips through the pages, his eyes soft and loving. Connor doesn’t page through the first pages, though. Four years of being married together, he’s still the romantic he’s always been. Though less reluctant, and still very much adamant in keeping himself out of Markus’ business.

“I look good,” He concludes, giving Markus the notebook back.

“Of course you do,” Markus shoves it back into his duffle, “I wouldn’t have married you otherwise.”

“Oh?” Connor asks, intrigued. He drags his fingers against Markus’ jaw and tilts his head, “Glad you find artistic inspiration with your ‘ol ball and chain.” His palms flatten themselves against Markus’ chest, “You know what? Let’s compromise.”

“Awesome,” Markus grins, wrapping his arms around Connor’s waist and letting his hands rest on the small of his husband’s back, “As a married man, I love compromising.”

“You come home by nine, we eat dinner, and make like Lady Gaga and Taylor Kinney.”

Markus smiles. “Fun.”

* * *

 

Maybe Connor shouldn’t have done that, because Markus is sitting in the conference with a half-chub just thinking about it, and he’s only gone through more than half of his office hours. He’s glad he’s sitting down, though. As opposed to be standing up and talking in front of his fellow deviants with a fucking hard on.

A sigh passes through Markus’ lips for the umpteenth time, and North catches him this time, shooting him a look that belies her actual annoyance of him. Markus smiles sheepishly at her. It’s not like she doesn’t understand; her wife’s waiting for her at home, too.

“Am I boring you, sir?” The human ambassador queries, eyebrow arching in genuine curiosity. Markus shakes his head and motions for the woman to continue. He catches Josh’s eyes, which tell him that he’s going to be in a world of pain if he doesn’t quit whatever the hell he’s doing. Simon shakes his head from where he’s diligently taking down notes from this meeting, those notes undoubtedly for Markus.

They don’t exactly _like_ him being married to Connor. North’s always been upfront about it, but Josh and Simon are more inconspicuous about it. Still, they don’t like the fact that Markus is married to the man who tried to get them all killed.

His mind begins to wander.

Connor, all pale skin and long legs, draped in their bed in the home Markus made for them and the family they’re planning to have, smiling at him in that way that he does when he’s being cheeky. Something he’s only developed in the years that he and Markus has been together. A smile that came from _their_ relationship, and nowhere else.

His  _husband,_ eyes half-closed, humming as Markus paints him and all his glory, not quite doing him justice, but coming close. Markus, fucking Connor into the bed sheets, smearing paint all over his pale skin, laughing when Connor slaps a streak of blue against his ass.

Connor, whispering to him that he _loves_ him, despite everything they’ve dragged each other into. _His_ Connor, beautiful as the day he walked down the aisle, picture perfect radiance and all, hugging Markus close as he comes around Markus’ cock, a high whine caught in his throat.

Markus smirks to himself.

The meeting quickly comes to a close after that, and Markus manages to keep his dick uninterested when he stands up to shake everybody’s hands, telling them that they should go have a good day, because Markus definitely will.

He chances a look at his watch. Thirty minutes to four.

Maybe he’ll sneak out.

Before he could, though, North catches him in the act, her face pulled into one of those legendarily stoic ones, staring down at him even though she stands almost a feet smaller than him. Goes to show how much practice she has with pulling those stares of hers.

“Going home?” She asks, leaning against the threshold his office and right in Markus’ way, who is packing his shit up in preparation of going home.

He knows better than to lie to her, so he answers in the affirmative.

She sighs, tossing back her red hair. “Knew it. Can you drop me off, first? My car’s in the shop.”

Markus’ eyebrows raise. She shrugs. “It’s date night for me, too.”

“Josh is going to kill us, you know that, right?”

North nods, “Yeah, but that’s just because he and Simon are workaholics.”

They share a look and make a mad dash for Markus’ Mustang, laughing giddily like children racing for the last vacant swing. Sometimes, it pays to have a person in the same boat as him.

* * *

 

When Connor said ‘dinner’, Markus didn’t actually think there’d be ‘dinner’. Call him a dog, but he really didn’t expect to come home to the smell of spices and Connor humming to some song Markus isn’t familiar with. He was thinking something along the lines of blueberry lube and long legs hitched up his shoulders.

Not that he’s not happy about the meal that he’s going to inhale the moment it’s placed in front of him.

Nines comes up barking, hopping up and down, gnawing at his coat and pulling him closer to the kitchen, where Connor is bent in front of the oven, his dark trousers stretching over his ass. Markus closes his eyes and sighs loudly.

What an absolute sight to come home to.

Connor hip checks the oven door closed and smiles at Markus in greeting, crossing the space between them to put his hands around Markus’ neck, standing up on his toes to press a soft kiss against Markus’ lips.

“You skipped work?” He asks.

Markus shrugs, placing his hands on Connor’s hips.

Connor grins, “Oh, what an anarchist,”

“That’s part of my appeal, right? You like bad boys, last I checked.”

His better half hums in thought, playing with the collar of Markus’ henley. Markus tips his head down to catch Connor’s lips in another kiss, but the man effectively dodges it like the slithery snake that he is, smiling cheekily. He informs Markus that dinner’s going to be ready in an hour, and Markus, of course, whines like a child, pawing at Connor’s neatly tucked dress shirt.

Connor effectively ignores him, dancing away from his wandering hands. Markus fears for their love, because he’s getting eerily _good_ at that. Or maybe he’s just racking up experience. Well, he’s got to get used to it now, because when they have kids, they’re not going to have a whole lot of time with each other.

Either way, he knows this game, and he knows it _well._

“Tease,” Markus says under his breath, and Connor flips him the bird, to which Markus laughs at as he walks out of the kitchen.

Taking baths after work is something Connor started making him doing a few weeks after they’d been together. Before that, he took showers in the morning to wake himself up, you know? But Connor introduced him to the wonders of soaking in a bathtub after showering, and now he’s clean _and_ relaxed after a long day of hard work.

When he’s all squeaky clean, he smiles at the fact that Connor’s drawn a hot bath for him, still steaming. He gets in and slides down, letting the water reach up to his shoulders.

Ah, Japanese bathtubs.

Thank you, Japanese people. Thank you, Connor, for making Markus buy this deep as hell bathtub.

Connor and bath tubs. Always a good combination. Two of the things Markus splurges money on. Despite Connor being an absolute stickler for organisation—he tries to deny it—they’ve had sex many times in this very same bathtub. In the shower, too. What kind of marriage would they have if they weren’t even a little bit sexually adventurous?

The first time they had sex in the bathtub, Markus found out that Connor can hold his breath for a very long time.

A very. Long. Time.

It scared him a little bit, but getting a blow job while surrounded in warm water is actually pretty awesome.

The memory makes Markus smile, reaching down to his very interested dick and wrapping his hand around it, humming contentedly as he melts into the tub some more. It comes easily, the memory of him and Connor in this bathtub. The way Connor smirked as he took one huge gulp of breath, looking absolutely goofy, before he dived down to wrap his hot mouth around Markus’ prick, immediately sucking as if to keep the air in the vacuum that is his mouth.

Though, before Markus can even get more up and personal with his own dick, a quick series of taps yanks him out of his own greybox of memories, for his gaze to land on an exasperatedly fond Connor.

Markus shrugs, because what did Connor expect? It’s been _days_ since they last fucked. Partly because of Markus’ job. Scratch that. He blames his job.

The side of Connor’s lip quirks. He leans on the doorway, his knuckles perched lightly on his hip. His eyes are dilated, cheeks flushed.

“Dinner?” He asks like the little minx that he is, walking out quickly before Markus can even process what was going on.

But then Connor pauses, looking over his shoulder. He seems to think of something. Markus hauls himself out of the tub with a groan, dick still very much interested, especially now that the object of his lust and affection is within distance.

“Leave that to me, yes?” Connor instructs, stepping closer to Markus and running his blunt fingertips against Markus’ scalp. Markus nods.

The food is divine. Markus genuinely appreciates that Connor took the time to cook for him, so he volunteers to wash the dishes, to which Connor agrees with, kissing him deeply before he tells him to head inside their room right after. His eyes are twinkling, and it’s only by sheer experience with Connor Manfred that Markus knows what the gaps in his narrative are.

Markus takes his time washing the dishes. He and Connor are particular about how they do things in their home, and part of that is hand-washing dishes so they’d be spotless. Markus likes it that way; reminds him of when Carl was alive, and Connor says that’s how Hank liked to do his dishes.

He doesn’t quite believe that the Lieutenant washes his own dishes so much as he just tossed them into the dishwasher. Still, it’s how they do things in their home. After he’s scrubbed the oven down, he finally stands, stretching his arms upwards and making a small, satisfied noise when his joints pop back into place.

A trip to CyberLife seems like something that should be in his immediate future. Maybe he and Connor will make a day of it. He ushers Nines into his dog crate, making sure that the dog will stay there, contented, for the rest of the night, maybe well into the morning.

On his way into the master bedroom, Markus gets one of the unused canvas sitting idly in their storage room, putting acrylic paints and paintbrushes into a bag and hefting it over his shoulder.

When he enters their room, there’s enough lighting from the sun coming down to bathe Connor in purple, yellow, and red. He’s absolutely divine, and Markus’ breath hitches when he fully takes in Connor’s body, the strappy… thing… bra criss-crossing across his chest in a pentagram, lace covering where a person’s boobs were supposed to go. His panties are matching, too, by way of straps that sit snugly on his hips, turning them more voluptuous than how they usually look.

He’s lounging like a particularly lazy panther, eyes half-lidded.

The dress shirt he’s wearing is unbuttoned and the sleeves are pushed up, the collar pushed off broad shoulders to reveal the freckles on them.

But what makes Markus’ heart slow into a stop is the fishnet stockings stretching themselves around Connor’s pale thighs, held up by garters that stem from the top of the straps that wrap around Connor’s hips.

Beautiful.

“You shouldn’t have,” Markus sighs, but he’s smiling, because this is something he didn’t know he wanted. Yet, here is the love of his life, knowing him better than Markus knows himself.

Connor smirks and presses his cheek to the duvet curled around him, as if he was sleepy. Maybe he is. “Not doing it for you,” he murmurs, “doing it for me. Bored.”

He waves a long-fingered hand around dismissively, and Markus takes a seat on the sofa that he usually sits on to watch Connor sleep, and Connor stares at him.

“Draw away, _un artiste_.” He says with perfect diction, relaxing into the bed.

Markus follows.

In the soft light, Connor’s skin seems silky, almost otherworldly, and Markus may be in love, but he’s not _blind_. He knows how people look at his husband; he knows Connor is made not only for perfection but for absolute beauty.

As he sketches out the curve of Connor’s hip, he smiles. All of this is his. The silver band around Connor’s left ring finger is testament to that.

After a while, he gets into the acrylics, the shade of Connor’s skin a quick match as he paints a light peach, smattering it with darker shades, and soon enough, there is a perceivable white shape in the darkness of its surroundings.

Connor’s eyes finally open when Markus puts down a brush to move onto a smaller, more fine-tipped one, shifting onto his back and arching his back as he spreads his legs, hand inching down the planes of his stomach, until he wraps it around his half-hard cock, humming as he pumps up and down lazily.

Markus’ body responds, immediately putting down the canvas to make his way between Connor’s legs, but the man’s eyes lock with his, black-brown and commanding.

“Finish it,” He easily orders, head tipping back to expose the long line of his neck.

Markus does. He picks the canvas back up and finishes his portrait of his husband, remembering the way the light danced on his skin. Connor moans from his place on the bed, legs splaying further. Markus doesn’t think about how his other hand has disappeared between his legs, soft squelching noises reverberating through the air.

Markus’ dick is hard and aching in the confines of his pants. The thought of just plunging into Connor’s heat is driving him wild, but there’s something about _following_ what Connor has said that makes him completely desperate to both listen to Connor and just say _fuck it_ and do whatever he wants.

But art is pain, isn’t it?

So he stays right where he is, even when Connor gets on his hands and knees, gripping at the headboard as he whines, his panties pushed aside to reveal two fingers knuckle-deep inside of his puckered hole. Markus whines, gripping his paintbrush tighter.

Connor moans out his name, and Markus’ head whips up to regard him, his breaths coming in pants. “How…” Connor lets out another dragged out moan, crooking his fingers inside of himself, “How do you want me?”

Markus almost sprains his own tongue trying to make out the words he wants to say, but he settles on, “Get your fingers out,”

Brown eyes glare at him, and Connor bares his teeth. “Like _hell,_ ” He hisses vehemently.

Markus raises his eyebrows. He grips his paintbrush more tightly and grins. “Fingers. Out.”

“You’re a bastard,”

“I wouldn’t be such a good diplomat otherwise,”

Connor huffs but follows. He sneers at Markus. Markus sneers back, though he knows that Connor knows better than to think ill of their little lovers’ quarrels.

So his husband sits on the bed, his cock hard inside his panties and his cheeks flushed, looking at Markus drolly, every now and again dropping his gaze to Markus’ crotch, pursing his lips, as if in deep thought.

Then, he lays back down on the bed, crossing his legs, sprawling like he hasn’t a care in the world. They both return to what they were doing before Markus went ahead and became an asshole. After a few seconds, though, Connor sits up and crawls towards their nightstand, opening it deftly and pulling out _something_ Markus doesn’t clearly see. He settles himself back on the bed, watching Markus carefully.

Connor uses—is that a fucking _dildo?—_ the toy to push his underwear aside, grinning that breathtaking grin of his before it’s gone, his head tipping back as he slams the dildo inside him in one push, making him moan, ragged and desperate.

Markus _whines._

“No fingers,” His husband breathes. “ _You_ , however,” he pauses at an upthrust, knees knocking together as he brings his legs up, presenting himself further to Markus. “Need to keep your end of the bargain.”

“Little fucking tease,”

“Nothing little about me, husband,” Connor says matter-of-factly.

Markus, despite his protesting dick, growls and gets back to finish the last details of Connor’s skin, the moles he likes mapping out with his tongue, the skin Markus mottles with bruises. Sometimes, it pisses him off that Elijah’s put his fucking signature on Markus’ husband’s body.

Too bad Markus is the one Connor married.

Markus moves on to Connor’s face. The peach of his lips, the black of his lashes. Truth be told, Markus is just hurrying this up, because he can always tell Connor to strip down and just pose for him.

But he wants to know how long he and Connor can hold out.

Connor bites his lower lip as he watches Markus, no doubt trying to read his mind. And guess what? After years of being together, Connor might as well be sharing a brain with him with the way he guesses what Markus is thinking.

“Fifty on you,” He pants, undulating his hips. Too bad for him, he can’t jack himself off.

“On me losing?”

Connor winks at him, “On you winning,”

Well, Connor’s always had faith in him.

* * *

 

Connor’s never been known for his patience; yet another thing he’s gotten from Lieutenant Anderson, but Markus likes that little part of him. The man whines and bitches on the bed, looking like the definition of beauty and perfection but sounding like a drunkard well on his way to a bar fight.

His husband’s always been a very charming man.

He’s got the dildo sitting snugly up his ass, though he’s just staring at Markus blankly, if not boredly.

Connor’s lips twist. Markus knows he’s thinking about what he’s going to do next, and a smile stretches Markus’ face when Connor tucks his legs underneath him as he sits upwards, the pink blush on his face darkening. He looks so sweet like that, Markus thinks idly, humming as he dots in the freckles on Connor’s shoulders in his painting.

The man whispers a curse under his breath and stands up in one smooth motion, loping towards Markus with one of those devilishly innocent smiles of his, the one that made Markus fall head over dick with him.

He plucks the canvas off Markus’ hands and appraises it with a knowing gaze, humming every now and again. Markus reaches around him to caress the small of his back, down the curve of his ass, before settling where his ass meets his thigh.

Connor’s eyes look at him.

“Are you quite done?” He drawls.

Markus shakes his head. “You can’t rush greatness, baby,” he says knowingly, snatching his canvas back and laughing at Connor’s pout.

Connor tilts his head and slides into Markus’ lap, snug as a bug, not caring that he’s getting paint on him. Markus winces and puts his painting a safe distance away from his impatient husband, who wriggles on his lap some more, grinding his ass down and moaning loudly.

Well, that’s fifty dollars in his wallet, for sure.

Markus sighs and puts down the painting, placing his paint-riddled hands on his husband’s hips, looking up at him and smiling.

Connor is flushed with arousal and impatience, his hips making little aborted movements underneath Markus’ heavy grip. He whines.

“You could have waited for me to finish,”

“Yes,” Connor agrees, grinding his hips back down and pressing himself closer to Markus’ body, “But I want to get fucked _yesterday_ ,”

“Needy.” Markus pinches Connor’s ass and stands up, Connor’s legs wrapping themselves around his waist instinctively. He takes ahold of the base of the toy inside his husband and pumps it into him shallowly, making Connor whine, arms tightening around his neck. Markus knows Connor knows that he won’t drop him; but Markus revels in the warmth and strength when Connor clutches at him.

When he lays Connor down against the pale sheets, he blinks up at Markus, all doe eyes and flushed cheeks. Markus takes a moment to watch him.

“Are you wearing _mascara_?”

Connor blushes a dark colour. “What about it?”

Markus can’t help but reach out and brush his thumb against the long curls of his husband’s eyelashes, making Connor blink rapidly, the sensation like moth wings against his skin. He drags his hands down to cup Connor’s cheek, noticing the subtle make up he has on, making his skin a little bit more dewy, his eyes bigger.

He doesn’t need it, but goddamn, is he ever so fucking beautiful.

“I love you,” Markus says, because he does. It bears repeating, so he leans down and presses a kiss to Connor’s clavicle, “I love you.”

“Show me,” Connor breathes, arching upwards against Markus’ mouth.

Markus hums, dragging his hands down to Connor’s hips, smearing him with peaches, reds, and blues, lips caressing the straps on his husband’s waist, reaching down to spring Connor’s cock from the confines of his panties, watching it bob, red and angry.

He licks a stripe up the length of it, making Connor moan, eyes fluttering closed. He reaches down to drag his blunt fingertips against Markus’ head, letting out small sighs and whimpers as Markus swallows him down, pulling back up to run his tongue through the slit of his husband’s cock.

His hand lazily pushes the dildo into Connor’s body, making Connor smile in pleasure, sighing as he melts into Markus’ mouth, his own lazy perfection something Markus hungrily devours. He licks at the underside of Connor’s cock, along the spongy head, bobbing back down to take it all in, letting the head hit the back of his throat.

Connor’s fingers turn into a gentle claw against his head.

After years of being together, there are rare moments like this in the sex life. The midpoint between hot and warm, where both of them just wants to be satiated in each other. Markus knows Connor’s body well enough to give him that, and Connor, well. Connor knows him better than Markus knows himself.

So when Connor gently urges him up, their breaths intermingling, making Connor laugh as he tastes himself in Markus’ mouth, their tongues dancing languidly. He grinds his pelvis down onto Connor’s equally hard member, a low moan escaping his mouth only to be caught by Connor.

Markus pulls the dildo out and Connor replaces it with his own fingers, laughing his ‘ _no, baby’_ when Markus tries to shove his paint-stained fingers into his husband. Markus blushes at the juvenile fumble, but Connor only shakes his head, kissing the apple of Markus’ cheek.

He stands up on his knees in between Connor’s legs, watching his husband finger himself open, the slick sounds of the lube erotic and a little bit disgusting as it reverberates through the air. Markus wipes his hand on the ass part of his slacks, and Connor glares at him, eyebrow arching in annoyance.

Markus shrugs and grins down at his husband sheepishly. “I’ll do the laundry,” he says nonchalantly, wrapping his now less paint-stained hand around his member, corkscrewing it up and down.

His husband tosses the bottle of lube at him.

“Lucky night for you,” Connor says, pulling out his fingers, pulling his panties to the side to reveal his slick hole, “You can fuck me raw.”

“For real?” Markus stutters. He knows they can’t get any sort of STIs, but Connor rarely lets Markus fuck him raw. Says it’s too messy, which it is. He’s tried it once, and he’ll never try that shit again. Connor seems to like it, though, at those rare moment when he lets Markus come inside him.

Connor nods and props himself up with his elbow, “For real.”

“Did you know you’re the fucking best?” Markus says confidently, smearing

His husband smirks. Of course he knows. Before he can retort, Markus is gripping at his ankles and sliding into Connor, who yelps and jerks at the suddenness of it all, before falling into the sheets, sighing in contentment.

“I missed your dick,” he says, already breathless.

Markus grins and kisses Connor’s ankle, before pulling out to slam back into his husband. A small sound that makes Markus’ blood pump wildly escapes Connor’s pink lips, and he sets out to do it again, marveling at the new noise like a cat that’s just discovered a new toy.

“Yeah,” Markus presses his forehead against the side of Connor’s foot, making the other man giggle, “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

Connor’s eyes turn impossibly dark, as if his pupils had just swallowed up his iris.

“Am I?” He asks right back, arching his back upwards as Markus thrusts shallowly into him.

Markus grins cruelly and tugs at the strap around Connor’s neck, bringing him up, he moves pliantly with the motion, his own ugly grin painting his spit-slick lips. God, this is why their marriage is so fucking healthy.

“What do you think, baby?” Markus purrs.

“I think I can be better than good,” Connor grins, tugging his feet from Markus’ grip and wrapping his legs around Markus’ hips, twisting so Markus falls into the bed with Connor sitting snugly on his lap and more importantly, on his cock.

That was so fucking hot.

“This better?” Connor asks, undulating his hips sensually, and Markus almost bites his tongue off at the action, Connor squeezing around him perfectly. Markus puts his hands on Connor’s hips and begins doing small thrusts, which Connor smiles at. He pushes back, harsher than the pace that Markus has set, and he’s not complaining, not at all.

The last rays of the sun makes Connor’s eyes glint a warm brown.

 _Shit,_ Markus thinks, as he pulls Connor down to kiss him, _I love him._

Connor bites his lip and pulls back, enthusiastically fucking himself on Markus’ cock, and Markus throws his head back when Connor swivels his hips. Connor latches himself onto his neck, sucking a mark that Markus knows North will call childish.

It’s not his fault he’s like a horny teenager when it comes to his bombshell husband.

“C’mon, honey,” Markus pleads, “fuck yourself harder,”

Connor nods, nosing against his jaw. He follows obediently, and Markus fucks into him, jostling Connor against his chest, where he stays, submissively taking Markus’ thrusts, his breath ragged and hot against his neck.

“God,” Connor whines, “I’m so full,”

The comment makes Markus’ dick twitch and harden even more, his teeth latching into the junction of Connor’s neck, thrusts quickly becoming erratic, the almost rough drag of Connor’s panties against his dick driving him crazy. Connor leans up and tugs his bra upwards, letting Markus latch onto the dusky nipple, biting at the hardened bud.

Connor gasps and takes his hard on in hand, swallowing thickly as he jerks off to Markus’ thrusts, quick and punishing, eyes all but rolling to the back of his head at the assault of sensations. A string of drool is escaping his mouth, and Markus almost laughs, he does.

But then Connor whines, his ass tightening impossibly, and comes all over his panties and Markus’ shirt, which he forgot that he still.. hasn’t taken off.

Markus isn’t finished with Connor, though, even if he is.

Connor slumps against his chest, making little punched out noises of pleasure as Markus maneuvers him onto his hands and knees, Markus’ palm holding Connor’s head down onto the bed. Markus uses the dress shirt to bind Connor’s arms on the small of his back, tugging at it so his back would arch obscenely.

“You,” Markus pants, “you fucking take it _all—”_

His husband is hysterical as he agrees, “Anything, _yes—”_

Markus grips Connor’s hips as he bends over to cover Connor’s body with his own, jackrabbiting his cock into Connor as he chases his own release, and Connor tries to tug his arms free from the dress shirt binding them to keep from the small screams from spilling from his throat, but Markus harshly keeps him where he is, bigger in every sense of the word, and in _this_ Markus revels. In the submission Connor _grants_ him, when he can so easily overpower him.

This piece of calm after the storm, after the meetings and judging eyes and malicious intent, here is someone who doesn’t want or _need_ anything from.

“I fucking love you,” Markus pants, biting into Connor’s shoulder, “God, I love you,”

Connor laughs, tears leaking from his eyes, making the mascara bleed onto his cheeks in dark streaks. The sound jostles from his chest to where they’re connected, and Markus grunts, teeth breaking skin as he comes into Connor, who moans loudly, sagging against Markus’ hold.

They stay like that for a good five minutes, Markus spilling into his husband all the while.

Connor lets out a disbelieving huff. His voice is scratchy, “Have you just been _storing_ that?”

Markus grunts, swatting at Connor’s ass cheek as his cock gives out a few weaker spurts as Connor experimentally squeezes around him. “No, that’s just because you’re hot as sin.” He breathes, “Jesus Christ.”

Connor tries to buck him off, but Markus laves at the bite mark on Connor’s shoulder.

“Alright, get off before you kill me under your weight, fat ass.”

“You like it.”

“I do, but I like living better.”

Markus hums against Connor’s neck, letting his weight bear down against his husband just to be a dick. Connor grunts and almost successfully bucks him off, but Markus presses small, fleeting kisses against his hot skin, an unsaid question.

He can almost _hear_ Connor roll his eyes. “Just let me take this shirt off,” he says, and Markus whines, but follows nonetheless, flopping off Connor’s body and into the bed, noting that their white sheets are decorated in paint. _Shit_.

Connor shrugs off the dress shirt and the lingerie, which is honestly pretty fucked now, ripped at some parts from Markus tugging at it. He can always buy Connor new ones. Perk of being the heir to millions: buying your husband more lingerie than he can know what to do with.

His husband makes a face as Markus’ come slithers down his leg, shivering at the sensation. But he returns to Markus’ arms, kissing him chastely before turning so his back is facing Markus, hand wrapped around Markus’ soft dick, guiding it to his slack warmth, the sharp squelch making both of them giggle like schoolgirls.

Markus hums contentedly. “You owe me fifty bucks.”

Connor settles against him. “The wonders of a joint bank account.”

* * *

 

North has sunglasses on when she enters the office, her suitcase cradled in her arms like a baby. Markus stares at her and grins. One side of her neck is littered with love bites, and Markus is _ecstatic_ to call her out on it, what with his own love bites hidden professionally under the thick turtleneck he has on.

Connor looks radiant in a baby blue dress shirt tucked halfway into his jeans as he fixes himself and Markus a pot of coffee, reading through some of the files the human ambassador gave them the other day. He looks up just in time as North stumbles into Markus’ office.

“Good morning,” He says amiably.

North grunts.

Markus grins and shares a look with his husband, who rolls his eyes and returns to the task at hand. North takes one look at them both and sighs, but gives Markus a well deserved high five. She playfully swats Connor’s ass as he hands her a cup of coffee, her smile winning, and above all, _accepting_.

“Kara give you a hard time?” Connor asks conversationally, eyeing the love bites. North grunts as she practically inhales the coffee, moaning about how good it is.

North peers up at him through the rim of her sunglasses. “You show yours, I’ll show mine.”

Connor grins. Now it’s Markus’ turn to roll his eyes.

Simon barges in with a dark look, and Markus spots a sheepish looking Josh from afar. That stops their conversation, and Simon drops a stack of paperwork on top of Markus’ desk, glaring at each of them with the righteous rage of someone who probably found out that Markus and North skimped out on work to fuck their respective spouses.

Markus’ husband grins beatifically. Simon’s eyes narrow, but he softens underneath the beaming smile.

“I need this finished by noon.” Simon says, taking the cup of coffee Connor is offering him. Markus shrugs, tugging his husband to sit on his lap. “Yessir!” He says jubilantly, “Connor will help me.”

North snorts.

“No sex in the office, _please_.”

Connor picks up a folder and rifles through it. “Definitely not on the files.” He tilts his head. “Ink is hard to wash off the skin.”

**Author's Note:**

> [im rk-1k on the hellsite](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/rk-1k)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> and [mmercuriall on twitter, the less hellsite hellsite](https://twitter.com/mmercuriall)


End file.
